


Somebody Once Told Me

by tobisebaschan



Category: Shrek (Movies), Voltron: Legendary Defender, i can't believe i'm actually tagging that
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Vomit Mention, has elements from both shrek and voltron with slight twists, i'll tag content warnings as things come up, there WILL be season two spoilers and future character mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:36:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobisebaschan/pseuds/tobisebaschan
Summary: Keith's house was impounded by the Galran Empire, an annoying shape-shifter named Lance was following him around, and his entire world was basically being turned on its head. Typical Tuesday, right?A/N: This started out as a joke but here I am with the Shrek AU no one asked for (not a crack fic though!).





	1. "Donkey Meets Shrek"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you take Lance liking Shrek headcanons to the next level.
> 
> (There are season two spoilers in this fic! Nothing heavy yet, but ya know. Just be aware)
> 
>  
> 
> **CW; vomit mention, minor swearing**

“You _tricked_ me!”

 

“What about it?” queried a hushed voice, a blasé look etched onto its speaker’s face.

 

An indignant scoff sounded as the feline was pushed into the camp, cuffed paws tripping over uneven ground as he struggled to regain his footing. “B-but I thought we had a deal!! I thought we were _friends_!”

 

“You think a lot of things, Lance,” the crimson cloaked figure retorted as they crossed their arms, hip leaning to the side. “But they’re rarely intelligent thoughts.”

 

“Now that’s just cold,” Lance murmured with a downcast scowl. “I just… what are you even getting out of this? Some money? A little fame?”

 

“Our freedom.”

 

The simple answer caught his tongue. Their _freedom?_ “Wait, what do you—”

 

“Rolo and I are sorry for this, Lance. We really are, but getting out of this country is more important to us than some stranger we picked up on the side of the road.”

 

“Nyma, wait!!” he called after the retreating body, watching with awe-stretched eyes as she and her lumberjack turned business partner pointed his way, exchanging select words with a soldier. Lance’s stomach wrenched with panic as some sort of agreement was made, the trio taking turns shaking hands, a ribbon wrapped scroll handed Nyma following. With a final, sympathetic glance, the pair made their way through the exit past the other Magicals with Galra escorts queuing to be turned in.

 

This could _not_ be happening.

 

Lance’s eyes darted desperately about, trying to find some way out of this mess despite how highly improbable it was. The Galra sentries were well-armed and terrifying despite being outnumbered ten to one, the intimidating presence from their chrome bodies enough to frighten those arrested, keeping them easily in line. From there blocking nearly all routes out of the site was a massive fence made of some sort of purple lightning that crackled and whipped around like it was alive. The lone exception was that the latrine, a small exit from camp guarded by a mere two sentries, who (as Lance’s luck would have it) were on their way to some sort of shift change.

 

Lance’s racing heart nearly leapt to his throat; this was his chance. He had to go now, or he knew he’d never be able to escape. Everyone had heard the stories growing up, of how people were taken from their homes, their loved ones, and forced into either work camps or fighting rings based on size and power. Lance was young and admittedly scrawny, but he was in perfect health and his ability to shape-shift into a lion would be more than enough to convince the Galra he was capable of fighting. He couldn’t end up like that; he couldn’t hurt innocent people. Escaping was the only option, and the opportunity presented was more than likely his only way out.

 

Steeling himself with a deep exhale, Lance began to slowly back away from the edge of the crowd, cerulean irises nervously darting from one guard to the next, praying to whatever higher power was out there to let him have this, to give him something good _just this once_. A few more pads backwards and still no attention had been drawn his way; maybe he’d make it out of this yet. Lance began to turn, hoping to make a break for it when the clichés of all clichés would of course happen: a twig beneath his massive paws snapped, alerting the two closest guards to his position. With panic (or maybe bile) rising up his throat, Lance made a break for it, stumbling over the restraints holding his limbs adjacent.

 

“You there! _Stop!”_

 

Voices boomed around the escapee, swirling into an overwhelming noise that fuzzed his mind of any clarity. Lance needed to focus if he was going to get out of this; he had to _think._ Skidding to a halt as he reached the laser gridded fence, dread weighed down his frame. He couldn’t possibly hope to squeeze through such a small (and deadly) gap—at least, not while his powers were affected by the cuffs weighing him down.

 

Lance started from his thoughts as a shot missed the tip of his ear by a fraction, singing its navy fur with a fleeting heat. There was no way out of this, he realized with widened eyes and frazzled fur—the sentries were bearing down on his position, firing at him with their absurd weapons (he’d never seen anything more advanced than a bow and arrow) that charred the ground with their plum colored bullets. The previous route was now completely blocked off by guards, leaving him pinned up against the crackling barrier with nowhere to run. Lance’s breathing grew rapidly more jagged as he fought back his panic; he couldn’t be subject to a life of internment, and he didn’t want to be separated from his family. He had a life to live, one that he couldn’t do so here.

 

“Okay, Lance, buddy… you got this. You can do this. Just… just close your eyes and… and—” This time a shot nearly nicked his front paw, a yelp sounding as he leapt sideways. “OKAY, it’s _really_ time to go now!!” he scolded himself as he closed the distance between himself and the fence. “I can do this. I can do this. _I can do this!”_

 

It felt like years passed as Lance soared through the air, the cool of the night air ruffling his fur, calming him despite the urgency of the situation. Everything had faded to black as he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the night forest. He _would_ clear the fence—he had to.

 

Paws were met with solid ground, catching the boy completely off-guard. He’d… made it? A cry of alarm passed through Lance’s muzzle as he struggled to regain his footing, the world rushing back into clarity with jolt. The guards continued to fire and yell after him but couldn’t pass the barrier to continue the chase, Lance realized with an upsurge of relief. He _actually_ did it! A giddy laugh burst to the surface as he began to charge into the forest, throwing back a string of brags and curses over his shoulder. Lance’d done it; he’d actually done it! He was _free_ and—

 

Suddenly the world was upside down..?

 

With his vision swimming from a dull ache beginning to throb through head, Lance peered up at whatever he had run into, already half-scolding the object for being in his way when his breath caught in his throat.

 

It was a Galra.

 

Well… kind of?

 

The stranger had blotches of the signature purple covering his mostly clothed frame, though it was furless like those of the more reptilian in nature, and what should’ve been two, completely yellow sclera were instead one yellow and one mauve irises respectively. Two fluffy ears sat adjacent to hair that faded from a matching lilac to raven black, and two of his five right fingers were clawless and pale. If Lance hadn’t been mistaken, he’d say the flesh toned parts scattering the boy’s frame looked… _human?_ How was that even possible?

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Lance blinked up at the newcomer, not at all appreciating the way his voice practically dripped with sarcasm. “Uh, _yeah,_ how about getting out of my way? Didn’t you see me coming?”

 

“Okay, _you_ ran into _me._ I was standing here first.”

 

“Whatever, man! Why didn’t you move?”

 

An exasperated look crossed the other’s face. "I didn’t see you.”

 

“Why are you making a big deal out of _me_ not seeing _you_ then?!”

 

“Dude, it doesn’t matter. I was here first, you ran into me, end of story."

 

Lance eyed the stranger suspiciously, taking special note of the bundle of firewood in his arms. Why was the kid out _alone,_ collecting wood no less? Surely the Galra had more advance technology for heating their living spaces? "What are you doing out here anyways?"

 

"None of your business," the boy hissed, though his tone was laced with irritation more than anything. He just wanted to be left alone; wasn't that clear enough?

 

"It is now," Lance chirped, sticking his nose up (the Galran boy resisted an exasperated groan at the sight; he hated the cocky type hated most). "Your people were trying to sell me off or whatever. Are you… not gonna try to capture me again? I kind of just escaped the compound and all." The stranger stiffened and Lance cursed his big mouth. That was probably _not_ the thing to say to someone who was you know, potentially _evil_. "Ahahahaha, um, just… joking! I wear handcuffs for fun a-and stuff? I-I'm gonna go now and do... things. Yeah, okay, bye!"

 

Before Lance even made it a step, a hesitant voice called out to him with, "wait”.

 

Caught by surprise, the shape-shifter stumbled over the chains tying his front paws together. He peered over his shoulder with wide, cobalt eyes as he stood up, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. "Dude, I said I was kidding—"

 

"It's _fine_ ," the other grumbled, making a point to look anywhere than at Lance’s face. He paused for a moment letting out a deep exhale, running a gloved (and ew—was it fingerless?) hand down his face. "I'm not... I'm not with _them._ Not anymore."

 

Was this some sort of trick? It had to be. There was no such thing as a rogue Galra! Lance peered through narrowed lids at the supposed outsider, one eyebrow curved sky-high. "Right, and I'm King Zarkon."

 

An exasperated sigh left the boy's pursed lips. "No, _that_ guy’s an asshole and is actually the one who sent me away in the first place. You're just an idiot."

 

"First of all, _rude_ , and second... uh, sent away?"

 

"You know, most strangers don't press people for their backstories, especially someone they just pegged as the bad guy."

 

"Okay, okay. Point taken. But… how do you expect me to believe you? I mean, you're out here all alone in the same exact forest where your people are capturing Magicals and sending them off to work camps. It's all just, you know, a little sketchy if you ask me."

 

The boy merely shrugged with a pointed gesture at the branches in his arms. "I'm not wearing a uniform, I'm carrying sticks around, and I clearly look... _different_ than the others." As if to prove his point, he flicked some of the bangs from his eyes as if to further display his flesh-toned skin. "So, unless you're a moron—which I guess you are—you’d believe me."

 

How dare this… this _poorly dressed_ stranger insult his intelligence—twice, at that! What was this guy even basing the assumption on? "Well, I dunno!” Lance yelled with an exasperated shrug of the shoulders (if he could throw his hands up, he would). “What if you were some kind of undercover spy planted out here to catch runaways or something?!"

 

"Have you ever heard of that before?"

 

"...No."

 

"Or of anyone else escaping from a camp?"

 

"No, and honestly? I’m really proud of that."

 

"Okay, then. Problem solved. You're just a moron."

 

Lance scoffed, but made no move to fight. The other’s argument—minus the name-calling—admittedly made sense, though he’d never give him the satisfaction of saying that aloud. "Whatever. Can you help me get these off then? Prove just how _good_ and _pure_ your little Galra heart is then?"

 

"Just for that? No."

 

The shape-shifter's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull as the other boy turned quick on his heel, stalking off into the darkness without another word. How could someone claiming to be the ‘good guy’ just up and leave someone so… so _handsome_ and _charming_ like that? "Dude, wait up!!"

 

But the stranger was well ahead of Lance at this rate; the human took off after the receding figure (as fast as his restraints let him, at least), suddenly overwhelmed with a rush of loneliness and dread. What if he really was caught by a soldier now that he was on his own? Seeing the other person in the forest had been enough to help his momentary panic simmer down but now—he needed to get out of the woods as soon as humanly possible.

 

Oafy paws pounded on foliage as Lance gave chase, his breath coming in ragged, short bursts. How had the stranger gotten so far ahead? Did Lance lose him? Where was he? He hadn't been keeping track of where he was going so it was possible he—

 

A flood of light overwhelmed Lance's senses as he stumbled past the outer reaches of the tree line, startling him right out of his reverie. Surprised by the sudden change in terrain, Lance let out a curious, “huh”, as he nudged the ground with a toes. Beneath him now was sand, not dirt, and before him was a vast expanse of nothingness—save for a small cabin not too far a way off. Maybe this was his chance to escape? The home looked untouched, as though no one had been inside for ages. It would more than likely be safe to hide here until he got a bearing on where he was, provided this wasn’t a trap.

 

The front door squealed open as Lance’s shoulder gave it a nudge, the noise making the rustic home seem far more unsettling than it should've. Much to his surprise, inside the shabby space the fireplace was lit and food was boiling on the stove; someone lived here after all, and had been here very recently by the looks of it if they weren’t currently still around.

 

"Hello?” Lance called into the disconcerting silence. “Anyone there?"

 

The lone response was an abrupt crackling from the fading kindling to his left.

 

"I, uh, don't mean to intrude or anything,” Lance continued, stepping further into the living room, ignoring the unease tickling his limbs, “but I'm kind of lost and need some help?"

 

"Yeah, well, if you knocked instead of just barging in I might've considered helping you." The voice, followed by the shuffling of unbalanced feet, sounded from the entrance Lance stood in moments ago, startling him right out of his skin (fur?).

 

Lance whipped around with an apologetic frown ready to offer his first-born as an apology if necessary, only to find it was the stranger from the forest with the same miserable look he wore earlier. Lance groaned, flopping onto the ancient circle rug with dramatic flair. "Not YOU again!"

 

"Uh, I should be the one saying that, especially since _you_ just barged into _my_ house without _my_ permission."

 

"Wait, this dump is where you live??"

 

"This _dump_ is comfortable and private—or at least it was until you showed up."

 

"Okay, look, if you had helped me back there, I wouldn't have had to follow you! And how did I make it here before you?! I didn't even see you!"

 

"You were too busy running around like a chicken with its wing cut off."

 

"Head," Lance deadpanned. "It's _head_ cut off. Wing doesn't even make sense!"

 

A glint of irritation flashed in the other’s mismatched eyes. "It makes more sense than head!" he retorted, dropping the wood onto the nearby rack. "If it lost its head, it'd be dead and couldn't move."

 

"That’s...! That's not the point! The saying is—"

 

"Can we please just drop it?" came the exasperated response as the boy crouched in front of the fire. The constant bickering was working on the poor guy's last nerve; it’d been so long since he interacted with another person, and of course it had to be someone so infuriatingly childish. "Will you _please_ go away?"

 

"Not until you get these cuffs off me and tell me where I am."

 

An irritated sigh slipped through the other's scowl. "Fine, but only if you shut up for two seconds. I'm tired of hearing your whiney voice."

 

"My voice is NOT whiney—" A pointed look from the Galran boy had Lance snapping his jaw shut, but not before he muttered a quick, "fine".

 

The other reached for a partially wrapped dagger hidden in his utility style belt, brandishing it in Lance's direction. "Stay still so I can—"

 

"Oh _no_ you don't!! I can't believe I trusted you! I mean, I know I really shouldn't have in the first place because you're a GALRA and you should never trust a Galra… I just thought you were different 'cause you're like not _totally_ a Galra or whatever, but _nope_ I was wrong! Lance McClain was wrong and should've trusted his awesome and always right instincts because you're—"

 

"—Free."

 

"...What?"

 

"I said, 'you're free', and I thought I told you to stop talking."

 

"How...?" Unable to hide his disbelief, Lance peered down at the ground through narrowed lids, wondering how the other had managed to unlock the chains without him feeling or noticing the action. Well, it might’ve been more obvious if he had kept his eyes on the other and not the door he was currently trying to escape through Lance mentally noted with a bitter grumble.

 

The stranger let out a bothered sigh, carefully slipping the knife back into its sheath. "I'm not surprised you got captured,” he quipped, rising to his feet once more. “You're horrible under pressure."

 

"I am _not_! I just... you caught me off-guard, okay? What was I supposed to think with you whipping out a knife like that?"

 

"...That I was going to help you like I said you would?"

 

Lance's eyes tapered nearly closed as he glared pointedly at the other, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Sitting against the aged planks with a huff of indignance, Lance began to lick at and smooth the fur down on his aching wrists, hoping to soothe some of the pain. "Wuss yoh nabe, abyways?"

 

"...I'm sorry?"

 

"What's your name?” he repeated, shooting the other a jaded look. “My mom was always big on ‘stranger danger’, so uh, don’t want to disappoint her or anything, ya know?" The joke was half-hearted as shown through his dopey grin; Lance honestly just wanted to know the name of the broody teen that may or may not have saved his life (that was still debatable).

 

"Stranger—," the Galran boy began only to cut himself off with a scoff. The cat had the maturity level of a toddler and it was beginning to drive him up a wall. "Keith,” he finally answered, glancing away from the kindling to peer briefly over his shoulder. “My name's Keith."

 

"Keith?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Your name's Keith?"

 

"...That’s what I said. Is there… a problem?"

 

Oh how badly Keith wanted to wipe that stupidly, smug grin right off his intruder’s face. "That's… the lamest name I've ever heard for a Galra! Most of you guys are like 'Poorlak' or 'Zoogar' or whatever. Keith is just—"

 

"Human," Keith answered blankly, echoing Lance's thoughts. "It's a human name."

 

Okay, so maybe Lance was right after all. This Galra, going against all he’d ever been taught as a child, was actually part human? "That's..."

 

"And what's your name, Mr. High and Mighty?” Keith butt in, not wanting to hear the rest of whatever Lance had to say (he’d heard it all over the years, anyways). "Or should I keep calling you moron?"

 

"You know, I actually preferred not knowing your name 'cause now you sound way less intimidating, KEITH."

 

"’Moron’ it is, then."

 

"No, wait! My name's Lance. Well, Lancelot but no one calls me that anymore."

 

Keith had heard as much during the avid rambling earlier but hadn't been too sure if he was simply mishearing or not. With a quirked brow, he repeated, "Lancelot... as in _the_ Lancelot?"

 

"As in, 'Knights of the Round Table' Lancelot? Yeah, that's me, but uh... we don't exactly... hang anymore. How do you know that, anyways?"

 

“Stories travel,” came the casual reply, a shrug given following. “What, uh, happened? Why don’t you see them anymore?”

 

“Eh. I held Gwen’s hand on the swing and Arthur got mad so he kicked me out.”

 

The situation sounded so incredibly immature Keith wasn’t sure what to make of it. The guy was banned from a legendary group of warriors simply for _holding hands_ with someone? “Uh… That’s… rough, buddy.”

 

“It’s no biggie. They were pretty lame honestly.”

 

“That’s… a shame?” The Knights of the Round Table were… _lame?_ Keith seriously couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“Yeah, but you never really stay friends with the kids you grow up with anyways so like I said, no big deal. I’m over it.” Lance gave a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, returning to lapping at his wrists.

 

Keith stared incredulously at the other boy, not at all sure what to make of the situation. He’d never really had any friends growing so he couldn’t speak to the situation, but surely a bond strong enough to protect a kingdom and fight mythical beasts was able to withstand some simple hand-holding? “Sure… I guess?”

 

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of us though,” Lance continued from earlier with a cock of the head. “I thought it was a locals only sort of thing.”

 

“Uh, are you kidding? _Everyone_ knows about the story of Arthur and his Knights. You guys are kind of a big deal, even way out here.”

 

“Seriously? I mean, I know it was a fun game for us and all, but why would anyone else care about it?”

 

“W… what do you mean by _game?”_

 

“Uh, as in a literal game? We used to play Knights when Arthur was done with his afternoon lessons.”

 

“I… wow. Okay, uh, so you didn’t actually fight… monsters and stuff?” Children everywhere were having their idols crushed as the seconds rolled by.

 

“Dude, we were like eight. Of course we didn’t fight monsters! Are you nuts?”

 

 

“I… need a second to process this.”

 

“Process what—wait, you guys actually _believed_ all those stories?! How could we have possibly done any of that?”

 

“I-I don’t know, man! I only heard stuff through the grapevine or whatever, and I’ve never actually been outside of the Galran Empire so—”

 

“Merlin’s beard… Okay, so people actually think we— _I_ am some sort of crazy tough warrior who took down a-a dragon and shit? This is… this is the best news I’ve heard all day—no all _year_. I am walking on air right now; thank you, Keith. Oh Avalon, thank you so, _so_ much.”

 

Keith bit back a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last thing Lance needed was for this to go to his oversized head. “I… yeah. Sure. Can you just… go now? Please? I got you out of your cuffs so—”

 

“But I’m lost!” Lance cried as he leaped to all fours, apparently forgetting about his ego’s inflation. “I have no idea where I am and you’re the only… _sort of_ okay person I’ve run into all day! You gotta help me out, man!”

 

“I don’t have to do anything,” Keith countered, focusing his attention back to the prodding the growing flames, “especially for someone who isn’t even kind enough to say ‘thank you’.”

 

“I… totally did, didn’t I?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Well, thanks, man. You really helped me out there.”

 

The Galran boy was unprepared for such a genuine showing of gratitude; he averted his gaze with a furrowed brow and a nervous reply of, “uh, yeah, sure. It was nothing.”

 

“No, really. You could’ve kicked me out right away and stuff but you didn’t so—”

 

“It’s _fine,_ drop it. I was just teasing anyways,” Keith added through a mutter, flicking a few spare bits of wood onto the dying flames.

 

The pair lapsed into silence, Lance’s gaze boring heavily on Keith’s back making him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Should he say something? Or turn around? Why was the other still here? He’d gotten what he’d wanted so why was he still bothering Keith?

 

“I know you want me to leave and stuff but… can I, uh,” a hesitant murmur broke the heavy air, Lance’s paw scuffing sheepishly along the aged wood planks, “can I borrow some clothes first?”

 

“…You’re a cat,” Keith stated with a stony stare. “Why do you need clothes?”

 

Lance remained quiet for a few moments before a laugh bubbled from deep within his chest, shaking his lithe frame with uneven snorts. “D-dude, I’m not a cat.”

 

Keith bristled, lilac ears twitching crossly. “Unless I’m hallucinating right now, yeah, you’re a cat.”

 

“Okay, I mean, I am right _now_ ,” Lance clarified with a casual flick of the tail, “but I’m actually a human. Some… witch lady _thing_ cursed me as a kid so I can change into… well, this, whenever I want, but I really am human. Promise.”

 

“Then prove it,” Keith huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Not only was Sir Lancelot of Avalon just a tall tale started by a bunch of kids, he was apparently also a lion? Today couldn’t get any weirder.

 

“I will, dude _,_ chill _._ I just… need some clothes first. I mean, unless you _want_ to see me naked.” Thinly kept eyebrows waggled at the other, Lance’s voice dripping with provocation.

 

The urge to strange Lance was stronger than ever. “Wait here,” Keith hissed through a set jaw, resisting the desire to stomp away into the bedroom (he settled for slightly heavier steps; subtly was key).

 

Left once more to the stillness of the cabin, Lance absorbed his surroundings, noting the lack of pictures or knick knacks or anything remotely familial to decorate the home. Was Keith not the sentimental type? He didn't really seem it on second thought, but surely he should have at least one or two items from his past laying around?

 

"Here,” the near constant grumble of a voice sounded, shattering Lance’s thoughts.

 

A faded, sapphire tunic with gray trim was tossed Lance’s way, blanketing his muzzle and muffling his reply of, "gee. Thanks".

 

Keith's arms folded across his chest, perking an eyebrow suspiciously as he stared down the trespasser sat way too comfortably in his living room. "Go on. Do your thing, cat man."

 

Lance blinked at the other, wondering just what about the situation this guy wasn't getting. In order to change back he’d need privacy! "You seriously want to see me naked or something, bud? 'Cause that's how this works," he explained with a mirrored quirk of the brow.

 

"Oh. _Oh_." A spark of understanding jolted the Galran boy, an awkward clearing of the throat sounding as he moved a little too quickly towards the kitchen. Keith wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't a ploy to steal his clothes, but honestly they were his least favorite so it wouldn't have been too much of a loss either way. And besides, if the other boy slipped out right now, he’d be back to comfortable silence—just the way he liked it. "Sorry, uh, I'll just... wait in here," he murmured, squatting down on the other side of the half-wall.

 

"Thanks,” Lance replied, waiting for the other to disappear from view before leaning up to balance precariously on two legs. He’d done this a million times before, so why was he so nervous now? He was safe, had clothes, and had decent (ish) company, so everything should be fine! But a strange nagging tugged at the recesses of his mind, an unsettling feeling pooling in his gut. Lance rapidly shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of such thoughts, focusing on the mission at hand. Turn back, prove himself, and get the other guy to help him out. Easy enough!

 

With a deep inhale, Lance shut his eyes, focusing his attention from his toes, gradually working his way up to the top of his head. The transformation was thankfully painless, but it always took a good few seconds; Lance hoped Keith’s suspicions wouldn’t grow further and make him want to check up on his progress.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t, leaving Lance to shrug on the age-worn clothes, noting how they clung a bit to unusually broad shoulders but were comfortable enough on his scrawny midriff. The shorts fit rather comfortably though, ending just above his knees. All in all, a tolerable fit for an emergency. He’d always been a rather boney kid, never having really grown into his stick-like limbs. It was a thing he’d always been self-conscious about; creating the flawless Sir Lancelot character had been a welcomed distraction, but those days were long gone. Now it was _just_ Lance. A very lost and very lonely Lance who desperately missed home. He fought back a sniffle, rubbing at his eyes with his forearm. “I’m, uh, done… and stuff.”

 

Keith hesitated to rise, partially convinced this was still some sort of trick, however curiosity was a dangerous thing and coaxed him from his hiding spot with a cautious squint over the counter. Low and behold, there stood a human, dressed in the rags held by the massive cat moments before. Genuinely shocked, Keith stared at the changed figure, eyes raking in his new appearance. The boy was tall, maybe slightly taller than him, and had wide shoulders that tapered into a slightly smaller waist. He was otherwise thin and long, bronze skin speckled with freckles a similar chocolate brown to messy hair that framed his pointy face. Cerulean eyes the same color of the cat’s fur twinkled in the firelight, with the same mischief and goofiness readable but covering what felt like a slight tinge of insecurity. Keith quickly pushed the thought away with a shake of the head.

 

Lance bore a dorky grin as Keith eventually met his gaze again, large hands motioning the length of his body, sounding an, “eh? _Eh?”_ as if waiting for some sort of judgment on Keith’s behalf.

 

“You look… normal,” the Galran boy obliged with an uninterested blink or two.

 

“That’s it? _Normal?_ That’s all I get? With this handsome face and super rad bod, I’m just _normal.”_

 

Non-matching eyes rolled with annoyance, a vexed scoff filling the air. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

 

“I’m _amazing,_ is what I am, buddy ol’ pal! And you _clearly_ have bad taste, so—”

 

Abrupt knocking sounded at the door, the pair both jumping in surprise. If the booming command for them to ‘exit the premises’ hadn’t followed suit, Lance would’ve absolutely made fun of Keith for being startled, but the fear from earlier’s escape immediately rushed back to mind filling his body with dread. “N-no,” he began with widened eyes, arms folded into his chest. “What if they found me? What if they’re going to arrest me? What if—”

 

“Hide.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Hide_ ,” Keith ordered, shoving Lance towards the bedroom with urgency. “There are loose floorboards beneath the bed. Get under those and wait.”

 

“What are you—”

 

“Go _now_ before they break in here and see you!” he hissed, pushing at Lance’s shoulders again.

 

The expression of alarm on the previously calm and collected boy’s face was enough to convince Lance to get moving, scrambling towards the hiding place with his heart slamming madly against his chest. He slipped easily to the dirt beneath the planks, which he presumed had been carved out some time ago as a sort of bunker—but for what he had no idea.

 

“I’m coming!” Keith called, slowly stalking to the window once he assured Lance was safe, peering over the sill with the hope of getting a bearing on the newcomers. Outside the door stood two Galran sentries and a soldier who was rapidly appearing more cross by the second, his fist slamming against the door a little too loudly as he once more barked a demand for Keith’s presence.

 

With his hand hovering near the blade hidden on his hip, Keith opened the door, forcing as friendly a smile to his lips as he could manage. “Uh, sorry about that… I was cooking and—”

 

“No matter,” the soldier dismissed with an irate flick of the hand. “I come with formal decree from Lord Lotor that this land is now under his control.”

 

A scroll was slapped into Keith’s open palm, immediately turning his attempt into pleasantry to a furious scowl. He unwrapped it, nearly tearing the paper in the process, skimming over the words as a wave of nausea rolled over him. The house was… no longer his? The one his parents left him? His _only_ connection to them—to his past? “No, wait, there has to be some sort of misunderstanding… This property belongs to—”

 

“Lord Lotor. His word is law. If you have any complaints, you can take it up with the Lord himself. I am simply the messenger. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way. Good day… _half-breed._ ”

 

Lip raising in a snarl partially from the insult but mostly at the absurdity of the situation, Keith clutched the parchment in his hand nearly crushing it. The seal at the bottom and signature were indeed real; he’d seen the royal decree once before as a child when his parents were taken away. This place was undeniably confiscated.  

 

It took Keith some time to work down his rage enough to step back inside the comforts of his home, knowing that taking it out on the guard would only serve to worsen the situation. This was something he’d, as they said, have to work out with the royal pain himself, regardless of how bothersome that sounded. Keith’s fingers pulled through his hair as he let out a frustrated bellow, brows furrowed with contempt as he paced about the aged floor. What was he supposed he do? He’d only been to the capital once as a young boy, and at the time he’d been less than welcomed. How would they handle his arrival now, with his not only being grown but with his lack of protection from his mother’s rank?

 

“Keith?”

 

The surprisingly gentle voice caught said boy by surprise, a small stumble in his step as he whisked around to gape at the source. Lance offered a sympathetic frown, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he closed the distance between them. “I, uh, heard everything. I’m so sorry, man… What… What are you going to do now?”

 

“Get my cabin back.”

 

The immediate answer stunned the human, a brow perking up curiously in response. “But how?”

 

“Fight this at the source. They said I could take it up with that… that _asshole_ , so that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna show up and make him give me back my house.”

 

Lance fell uncharacteristically silent as he simply stared at Keith, making the Galran boy feel a bit unnerved if he was being honest. The human then nodded, inhaling deeply, chest visibly filling up. “All right.”

 

“All… right?”

 

“Let’s do this. Let’s get your place back.”

 

“Let’s?” Keith repeated with a dumbstruck look.

 

“Yeah! I’m coming with you. I mean, you saved me first so I kind of owe you now, and besides those guys are the actual _worst_ so I’d love to knock some sense into them, if you feel me.”

 

“No.”

 

“…No? I thought you wanted to—”

 

“No, I don’t want _you_ to go with me.”

 

“But why—”

 

“Because you’re incredibly annoying, but also because this is _my_ cabin and I don’t need anyone else’s help to get it back. And besides, weren’t you trying to get home?”

 

“Okay, you’re wrong on both accounts but I’ll let it slide this once because I’m a nice guy. And yes, I was. Maybe this… Lotus or whatever dude will be able to tell me how to get home. Besides, you’re not gonna be able to do this alone, and seeing as I’m the only option you have…”

 

“But—”

 

“Nope! Done. The end. El fin.”

 

Something told Keith he wasn’t going to be able to argue his way out of this one; Lance was far too stubborn. There was also the possibility of losing the bothersome stranger somewhere along the way that put Keith’s mind the tiniest bit at ease. “ _Fine_ , but I’m not waiting up for you if you get tired.”

 

Lance’s grin grew even wider (if possible), his arms thrown up in the air in delight. “SWEET. Road trip, baby!”

 

Keith’s eyes rolled for the umpteenth time that day as he threw his already packed supply sack over his shoulder (one always had to be ready in an emergency). “You’re so annoying. _Zarkon.”_

 

“Just admit it, buddy. You’ve fallen for the McClain charm! I’m _irresistible,_ ” he cooed with wriggling eyebrows.

 

“I’m going to barf. Please stop.”

 

“Then would you say that you’re… _love sick?”_

 

“You know what?” Keith grumbled, practically stomping out the front door. “On second thought, I’m going to go get those guards and tell them who you are, probably get a reward for turning you in, and use it to buy back my house. Nice and easy.”

 

“No, wait, I was just joking, man!! KEITH! Come back! Dude, don’t leave me alone! This place still gives me the creeps! _Keith!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching Shrek the other night, you know, as one does and while watching a certain reveal of a certain ogre to a certain princess I got to thinking: "Galran Keith? Lance is actually an ass? Okay, time to write a fic". And honestly? I was totally joking when I told my friend that, but here I am a week later with a 6k chapter so yeah. Enjoy?
> 
> Also, yes, the titles will be Shrek song titles because I'm absolute garbage.
> 
>  **Fairy tales in this chapter:** Shrek films: Shrek = Keith, Donkey = Lance, Lord Farquaad = Prince Lotor ; King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table: Lancelot = Lance ; Little Red Riding Hood : Red = Nyma, Lumberjack/Woodsman/etc. = Rolo
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](http://tobisebaschan.tumblr.com)


	2. Stayin' Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry this took so long! The original file I had written got deleted by my phone so I got frustrated and stepped away from this project for a bit. I'm back in the swing of things now, though, and will hopefully be getting out at least one chapter a month from now on! I also apologize if formatting is off. I did this completely on my phone T.T
> 
> Also, **character spoils for end of season two!** Sidenote: I hope a certain someone isn't actually like this in the next season. I'm playing heavily off of Farquaad's character.
> 
>  **cw;** fighting, slavery mention

"Witch?"

The woman's eye would've twitched if her self-control hadn't been so well-rehearsed. "I am a _Druid_ , my prince.”

"And _I_  am unbelievably bored," the royal pain mused, reclining back into his plush, crimson chair. "I would like a woman to occupy my time with."

Haggar was unsure exactly just where the sudden desire had come from but knew better than to question the whims of the reigning family. Holding back a resigned sigh, she gave a curt nod, hands folding in front of her cloaked abdomen. "Was there one you had in mind, Prince Lotor?"

"No."

Of course there wasn’t. That would be too easy, and nothing was easy when it came to Galra royalty. "What would you like me to do then, my liege?" she queried, tone laced with the slightest bit of ice.

"Give me options,” came the simple reply. Wasn’t it obvious to her? “I prefer company of fellow social standing, though; can't tolerate those of lesser pedigree. I'm sure you understand."

No, she didn't. "Of course, my prince."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Sire, I don't--"

"Show me my options."

Biting back another exasperated response, finger rapping against the back of her hand in annoying, she again gave a quick nod. "Understood." Hopefully images would be enough to quell his impulsive plea, as there was no way for her to physically bring anyone to him in a matter of seconds.

A few heartbeats of silence passed as the woman's eyelids shut, mind reaching out for the information she so sought after. Satisfied with the findings, three wispy figures, conjured beside Haggar as she focused her stoic stare upon the younger Galra. "This first girl—" she cut off to motion at the figure to her left, "—is Princess Plaxum. She is of the merfolk but longs to live on land and experience life on two legs. A beautiful catch, if I dare say."

The prince let out an amused snort, resting his cheek on his fist. "Your wit is lacking, witch."

"Continuing on—," lest she lose her temper any further, "—would be Uljia of the Olkari people. She is miniscule, perhaps the size of your thumb, though not unlike the others of her kind, Uljia wields powerful magic unique only to that of their species. Their vast knowledge could be a powerful tool to the empire."

"Father would approve."

"Certainly. And lastly, the third choice is that of Princess Allura from Altea. I believe you know the story of my—and your _mother's_ —people?"

"I should have your tongue for—"

"Despite all, the princess is alive and well," Haggar continued, brimming with satisfaction at seemingly having struck a nerve. "She has been kept in the Castle of Lions for in good health and looks precisely the same as you remember her." Of course, there was a catch—but him finding out such on his own would be far more entertaining for the druid. Lotor would more than likely assume she was kept un-aging in the same fashion he himself was: through means of a magical medication called ‘quintessence’. "Do... any one of those girls appeal to you?”

The prince watched each of the three, flickering holograms carefully, taking in what he could from the repeating clips. While they were all admittedly beautiful and captivating in their own way, he couldn't deny the pull of history. He and Allura had spent much of their childhood together, and though the prince was oblivious to her annoyance surrounding his behavior, he was a tad sweet on her—although, he would never admit to such a thing. Additionally, she was the most… relatable of sorts compared to the other two (how would he even successfully be with someone no more than four inches tall?).

"Allura."

The young woman's name echoed throughout the chamber, settling a near eerie grin on the druid's thin lips. "As you wish, sire. Will you set off to do the rescuing yourself..?"

"As much as I'd love to impress her, I remember just how heavily the Castle of Lions was protected. I shall send my best men."

"And who might they be, so I may begin the preparations, of course?"

Now Lotor was a prince of many ideas—not necessarily good or bad ones, just… ideas. This, however, would inevitably result in both, depending on which party's view you were looking at.

"Let's host a competition!” the ageless prince chirruped. “The victor shall be my choice in rescuer, as they will have proven their worth and loyalty to the kingdom."

Haggar knew that really meant Lotor couldn't be bothered to attempt a quest of his own design. Royalty in a nutshell. With a dip of the head and two steps back, she answered, "understood, my liege. We will begin planning in the morning”.

* * *

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“Yes.”

“But you said you’ve never even been to the capital before!!”

“No,” Keith corrected through clenched teeth, “I just said it’s been a while.”

“Okay, so, how long’s it been then?”

“Uh... thirty years… maybe?”

Lance came to an abrupt halt, blinking slowly at the disgruntled frame slouching away him. “I’m sorry— _what_?” he practically squawked (and was totally not embarrassed by the cracking of his voice; not at all).

With an irritated scowl, Keith glared over his shoulder. “I said—”.

“Nonononono, I _heard_ what you said but, dude… how old are you?!”

“Galra age slower than humans,” Keith muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tunic. Surely that was common knowledge?

“Yeah, I know, but I thought…” Trailing off, Lance gaped as if the sudden realization was too much to take in. He didn’t want to press the whole half-human, half-Galra thing unnecessarily (as it did seem to upset Keith to a degree), but as the saying fittingly goes: curiosity killed the cat. Lance broke into a light jog after the other boy, brows furrowed with concentration. “You’re only… you know, _sorta_ Galra though.”

A weighted exhale slipped past the thinly pursed lips of the shorter boy, annoyance clearly evident in his features. Was Lance _ever_ quiet? “I won’t live nearly as long as… _full_ -blooded Galra do, but I’ll outlive humans by a bit. I don’t really know how much, just that I’m stuck somewhere in the middle. One-of-a-kind, remember?”

“Did your parents kn—”

“Can we just… stop talking? I’m tired... and it’s… distracting me.” Keith’s flat and rather tired tone expressed how drained he was, both physically and emotionally. It had been some time since he’d been forced in the company of another—especially someone so stupidly aggravating. Who did this kid think he was anyway, asking about his family like that? “We’re going to get lost,” Keith added with an irate and very final glare towards his companion.

“We already _are_ lost!” Lance indignantly exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air with usual dramatics. The previous sentiment from Keith was either missed or ignored.

In turn, Keith part groaned, part sighed, running a hand down his face with exasperation. “We are _not_ lost, okay? Not _yet_ ,” he added, with another glower towards Lance (who in turn let out a childish poke of the tongue). “Just… be quiet and let me think, okay? I need to get my bearings straight.”

“...I still say we’re lost.” The phrase was muttered and just barely audible, enough so for Keith to hear and with just enough sass to set off the already frustrated individual. Lance shot a glower towards the other boy’s back as if to solidify the rude gesture; he exactly what he was doing.

And of course, Keith took the bait. He was at his wits end; how could he not? “We _aren’t_ —you know what? Since _you_ seem to know everything, why don’t you just lead the way?” he spat, arms folding across his chest to mirror the metaphorical thorn in his side. Maybe bringing the shape-shifter along was a bad idea after all.

A nippy “fine, I will!” filled the air before Lance stomped off, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders raised to his ears. He never backed down from a challenge, especially not one from someone so… so _holier than thou,_ and even if he knew he was in the wrong he’d refuse to step away. This was a matter of pride!

“...We just came from there.”

Stupid Keith. "I... knew that. I was just… testing you.”

“Whatever, man. Whatever.”

* * *

“Hey, do you know that song that goes like—”

“No.”

“I didn’t even finish!!”

“I don’—”

“Um, excuse me, sirs?”

Two pairs of equally infuriated eyes shifted towards the source of the voice, a meek looking Galra dressed in an awfully cartoonish version of what was presumably the king (as told by the gaudy crown and cloak). The man stumbled backwards, tripping over his clownish shoes, partially spooked by their fiery glares which were instead now fixated on him, and partially from Keith’s appearance as he gaped with a near horrified expression at the young man in particular. Lance, confused, and Keith, hiding his offense, watched as the mascot backed away through the entrance gate as graceful as a newborn babe, knocking everything he possibly could over.

“Hey, wait up!! Where is everyone?” Lance called after him, moving to jump the wood gate only to be stopped by a sudden hand on his shoulder.

“Quiet down,” Keith lightly scolded, mismatched eyes skimming about suspiciously.

“You know what? I’m tired of you always telling me to shut it—”

“For once, it’s _not_ because you’re annoying.” Keith silenced whatever presumably moronic retort Lance had in mind with a slap of the hand over his mouth. “It’s just… weird that no one’s here. I remember there being tons of guards around.” Seeing that his reasoning resounded with the other let him breath a mental sigh of relief, letting his hand fall (lest Lance do something bothersome like lick it and aggravate him even further). “I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to us in case something’s wrong, so let’s take this one step at a time, yeah?”

Lance’s jaw slackened as he subconsciously jutted out his lower lip, arms settling across his chest as he peered around inquiringly. “Fine. What should we do then?”

“Let’s look around. That guy had to be going somewhere, right?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Then let’s find out.”

* * *

"Over here!”

Turning towards the hiss of a voice, Keith meandered over on his tip toes, shoulders screaming beneath the weight of the stone tunnel pressing at his sides, shoes squelching through the muddy path that soaked through to his toes. He squeezed his way out the exit, sliding up next to Lance who was perched rather precariously on a pile of old, wooden crates toppled up against a tattered fence.

“Looks like some sort of… contest, I guess?” Lance commented, shuffling to the side to let the other share his spying spot. “That must be why no one’s out. They’re all here.”

“Makes sense,” Keith murmured in reply, peering over their throng of safety to get a lay of the situation. He paused to shake the gunk from his boots before murmuring, “wow, it's packed. I wonder what’s going on”.

“The announcer guy said something about a contest? I dunno, looks intense though. All those dudes in armor look like they’d happily eat me for lunch.”

With an irritated scowl, Keith rejoined his companion on ground level, sliding his knife from its sheath as precaution (some perimeter guards were approaching far too closely for his comfort level). “Lance, the Galra don’t eat other people; they eat the same things as humans do, just… a lot more of it, I guess.”

“…”

“What?”

“It’s just a—never mind. Should we, like… go in or whatever? That fancy dude up there looks like he’d know where to find the prince.”

“…That’s because he _is_ the prince.”

Now it was Lance’s turn to feel like an idiot. “Oh.” He supposed it made sense, what with the showy get-up and countless soldiers surrounding his viewing box. “It’s gonna be hard to talk to him then,” Lance began, only to cut off as his peripherals caught a glimpse of red flashing over the fence. “Dude, what are you— _Keith_!”

Paying no mind to the panic of the other, Keith cleared the boundary with ease, landing with a soft thud onto the dusty arena floor. “Are you coming or what?”

If only the fence wasn’t in the way, Lance’s bitter glare would’ve been far more effective. “He’s trying to kill me. I know it. Sending a magical head into an arena of professional Galra fighters is insane.”

“I’m leaving!” the retreating voice called, leaving just Lance and his fear to themselves.

“…If I make it through this, he’s going to owe me so much. Stupid pretty boy with his stupid mullet and his stupid clothes—”

“I can still hear you, you know.”

“Good! ‘Cause I’m gonna make this as miserable for you as it will be for me.”

* * *

“Ladies and gentleman!” a Galra boomed, well-rehearsed poise lacing the announcer’s voice as he waved to the people below. What the man lacked in height, he made up for with obnoxious confidence. “Welcome, welcome, welcome to today’s _special_ event, hosted by none other than our beloved Prince Lotor: a one-of-a-kind search for the strongest warriors in the land, where our challengers will duel… _to the death_!”

A chorus of gasps and exclamations of misunderstanding filled the air, most clearly distraught by the idea. A heart laugh sounded from the man, garnering an amused grin from the man sat beside him on a portable throne. “What a cruel joke, Morvok.”

“The prince is correct! I kid, I kid. We are merely testing your strength today. The victor shall be knighted and sent on a mission specially from His Royal Highness himself, and thus… rewarded generously.”

“Ooh”s and “ah”s sounded this round, as many of the battlers-to-be below began to chatter in anticipation. What was said journey? Said reward? They’d only seen rough details on the many posters and advertisements about the kingdom.

“Enough idle chatter,” the man chirruped, waving his hands dismissively. “We shall begin the first tourney henceforth!”

“Not so fast!”

If Lance hadn’t known any better, he’d say the entire universe was currently staring him down—but speaking under the weight of pressure from surprised and infuriated onlookers alike held his tongue fast. The disgust etched on the various faces above was overwhelming, helped by their hushed whispers and the brandishing of weapons alike. Lance was definitely not hiding behind Keith to avoid them. Absolutely not. Keith was just conveniently in front of him was all.

And Keith, who stood tall despite the aversion spewed his way, looked as though he were ready to take on the world. His typically disgruntled demeanor appeared a thousand times more threatening, and it had very little to do with the blade hovering at his side. “You stole my land, Lotor. I want it back.”

Gasps of surprise filled the air; how could something so lowly speak to royalty that way? And without invitation in the first place?

“How dare you address His Highness so forw—”, Morvok began; the hand raised by the prince immediately silencing him.

“Disgusting creature,” instead came the Prince's harsh reply.

“Uh, _rude_!” Lance huffed, arms folding across his chest (peering around from the shelter of Keith's frame). “I’ll have you know all the ladies want a piece of this!”

Amusement laced the prince’s lips as he peered down at the semi-visible human, though he said nothing in reply, instead focusing his attention on a still furious Keith. “I stole your land?” Lotor queried, tone laced with nothing but amusement, lips curling upwards in the slightest of smirks. “I am the prince of the Galra empire. All belongings of Galra citizens are property of my kingdom. Even you, half-breed, are mine.”

“T-that’s not how it works!” Lance sputtered, ire furrowing his brows, previous fear momentarily forgotten as he stepped around to Keith's side. “Arthur _never_ took from his people. He was a kind and courageous ruler who—”

“Oho, what’s this?” Lotor cooed, resting his chin atop his fist. “Even half-breeds can own slaves now? Though, I can see why he’d be given to the likes of you. Terrible mouth on that one.”

“He’s not my anything,” Keith replied, the bitter spit of his words at mention of the practice had Lance noting to ask about said reaction later. “He is just here to help me get back what you took from me.”

“This… _thing_ has quite the nerve,” Morvok murmured, leaning into the prince’s space. “Should I have him removed?”

Another wave came from Lotor. “No. This is amusing.” He refocused his attention back onto the duo, fingers lacing together to create a bridge of sorts for his chin to rest on. “All right. I’ll bite. What have you to offer me instead? Perhaps your cohort? He’s got a lovely countenance and looks as though he’s been kept in good shape.”

Lance’s stomach churned at the prospect of being auctioned off to the snake of a man. Surely Keith wouldn’t do so? That wasn’t why he’d brought him along, was it?

“I’ll beat your champions,” Keith stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let me fight in the contest.”

“Keith!! What are you—”

A rowdy bout of laughter sounded from the Galra prince, head tossed back as he clutched his sides. “You jest! There is no way a mixed brat like you could ever hope to win against my elite warriors.”

“Try me.”

A flash of determination in the other’s hard stare had Lotor squinting with bemusement. “And what if you lose, hm? What then?”

“I won’t.”

A delighted hum filled the air as Lotor reclined once more in his throne. “You must have a death wish. Fine. If you lose, I’ll grant it and you’ll be sentenced to death. For your… friend here, he will have to stay with me and keep me company.”

“Wait, hold up, I don’t agree to this—”

“Silence, human, before I have you killed where you stand.”

Lance gulped, slinking once more to the safety of Keith’s back. “He’s for real, dude,” he hissed, lowering to a protective stance. “We’re totally gonna die! Why’d I let you talk me into this?!”

“This isn’t your fight, Lance. Get off the field.”

“No way! If I left you alone, you’d be toast! And you said it yourself, I'm here to help.”

Keith snorted in discontent, also lowering himself as the first wave of battlers approached. “Okay, but _I_  actually know how to fight. Do you?”

“Yeah!! Of course!” Lance would’ve sounded a, “duh!”, here in any other situation (he was far too frazzled for sass). “I was part of Arthur’s squad, remember?”

“I thought that was make-believe!”

“The Knights thing was, yeah, but I was his like… manservant or whatever. We all had to learn how to fight a little to keep him safe. You know, just in case.”

“Well, a little won’t do you much good,” Keith quipped, ducking beneath the first blow sent his way, returning one of his own square to the guard’s gut. “Seriously, Lance, go wait on the sidelines! It’s dangerous!”

“Let me help you, Keith,” Lance coaxed, tone oddly calm though his true nature betrayed by the panic in his eyes. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Keith, surprised by the gesture, stumbled in his block, unfortunately getting nailed across the cheek by a fighter’s shoe. Lance yelped in surprise, reaching out to grab the other, stabilizing them both with a step or two backwards. “Careful, man!”

“Sorry, I just…” The cool fire had returned to those azure eyes, eyebrows raised as they darted over Keith’s face for injuries. Something about the immovable stare Lance sent his way had Keith's gut churning. Maybe Lance could do this after all. “Fine,” Keith hissed, pushing his companion away, “but I’m not responsible for you getting injured—or worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever dude. Let’s kick some Galra ass already!”

“I already have been,” Keith growled, leaping left to avoid a blade aiming for his leg. “Why don’t you?”

Lance’s gaze traveled from the some twenty bodies circling them, then to his own bare hands. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t fight without a weapon! “Uh, okay, so maybe this was a bad idea after all…” A javelin slammed into the dirt beside him, near inches a way; he yelped, side-stepping awaty. “We might actually die here!!”

“What happened in the last two seconds that changed your mind?!” Keith’s frustration was growing with each passing second, both from acknowledging the skill level of the other battlers as well as the human thorn in his side (who was busy dodging weapons like he was on an episode of Looney Toons). Where did the strong sense of protection Lance had literally seconds before? “Fight, Lance, or you’re going to die!”

“Okay, okay! Fine!” With one last panic-stricken look towards his companion, Lance made a break for an alcove in the stands, ducking out of Keith's view through an opening.

“Wait—dude!!”

“I have to change!” Lance called out, peeking around the holes entrance. “I don’t want them seeing me… well, _naked_!”

A theoretical lightbulb lit up over the other's head. “Oh. Well, I hardly think they care," Keith hissed, landing a solid kick to the side of a soldier’s head, a satisfying ring sounding as the metal of his helmet clattered to the floor. “They’re kind of too busy trying to kill us!”

“Well _I_  care, okay? Only certain people get to see this in all his glory!” Truthfully, though, Lance just didn’t want to ruin his only pair of clothes.

Keith groaned, wiping his forearm across his brow. “Whatever, man! Just get out here and help me already!”

Silence followed, annoyingly enough, but a bright wave of blue flashed from Lance’s spot, blinding Keith momentarily. He stumbled backwards with a palm raised over his squinting eyes. He’d have to learn not to look at that in the future. “Are you done yet?!”

“Yeah,” came the surprisingly steady reply, as Lance’s furry form slipped through the cracks. Only furrowed brows betrayed his worry; having outed himself as a magical in front of all of your enemy’s highest ranking elites was dangerous at its simplest.

Keith felt a twang of sympathy, though it was gone as quickly as it came, a javelin whizzing past his ear grounding him once again to the situation at hand. “All right, man! Get to work!”

* * *

If someone was to tell Lotor this was how his competition would end, he’d have them killed on sight just for the mere mention of it. A half-Galra, half-human creature winning over his best warriors? With the help of a magical, no less? There was absolutely no way.

“How..?”

A very battered but smug Keith grinned up at the prince, palms resting on his knees as leant down to catch his breath. Straightening up with a final inhale, he brushed his dirtied hands off on his pants with a sideways glance at his equally bruised companion. “We did it, Lotor,” he commented, focusing his rapt attention fully on the startled royalty. “We won. You owe us.”

Cold, yellow whites fixated on the indignant speaker, Lotor’s stare narrowed into a bitter scowl. This was unbelievable. “I… can see that.” A victorious grin settled on Lance’s lips at their enemy’s frustration. “I suppose I must honor our agreement…”

“Yes—”

“But half-breed, do you know what this contest was for?”

The only two left standing exchanged confused glances, Keith hesitantly piping up with, “no?”. Come to think or it, neither he nor Lance had bothered figuring that out before literally leaping into the fray.

“I need assistance,” Lotor explained, biting back a grin threatening to lace his lips. “My lady-in-waiting is trapped so I need a brave and valiant warrior to save her.”

Keith was one to catch on quick; he grimaced. “So, this competition was…”

“Precisely. And since you have, _unfortunately_ , bested my men, you have also won the right to take part in my quest.”

“Wait, hold on just a minute!!” Lance cried out, ears drooping, tail swishing with annoyance. “You never said anything about having to rescue a… a princess!”

“I believed all who’d dare enter the arena understood the purpose of such an event.”

“We’re from out of town, remember?” Keith grumbled near inaudibly. Briefly exchanging an irritated glance with his companion, he continued (louder) with, “I’m assuming we have no choice in this one?”.

The royal pain shook his head, an amused smirk lacing his lilac lips. “Again, you technically entered and won, thus you must now take on the quest.”

“Fine.” It couldn’t be too hard to free the girl, right? Otherwise Lotor would send an army. “Where is she?”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this, man. We’re not soldiers!! How are we going to rescue a princess without like, dying and stuff?!”

Keith sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that hour, running his fingers through sweat-soaked locks. “I told you, we sneak in at night, scale this… tower or whatever he said she’s in, and get back out before anyone notices she’s even gone.”

“But what if there are guards in her room? Or guards right by the bottom of tower waiting for us? How do we even get past the gate in the first place? Didn’t he say this was _the_ Altea?!”

“Lance.”

“…That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

It was honestly a bit impressive the other could still crack a joke under pressure; Keith was caught momentarily off-guard by the deadpan delivery. “…I, uh," he stopped to clear his throat, "I got this, okay? Stop worrying so much.”

“But you’ve never done anything like this before!! How can you be so sure?!”

“I just…” Another sigh. “I just am, okay? I trust my instincts and they’re telling me this’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Sounds like a stupid cake if you ask me,” came a mumbled reply from a slouching Lance.

Keith rolled his eyes, hands sliding into his pockets. Despite Lance’s honestly impressive feline form, the shape-shifter could be quite the baby. “I thought you liked food.”

“Well, yeah, but not food that’s gonna kill me and this totally is!”

“More for me then.”

“…Wait, did Mr. GrumptyDumpty just make a joke?”

“Why is that so hard to believe? And that… was by far one of the dumbest insults I’ve ever heard.”

“Not like you could do better.”

“I wouldn’t want to insult myself anyways?”

“Whatever, dude.” Lance glared half-heartedly at Keith's back. “You’re a total jerk, you know.”

If Keith’s eyes rolled any harder they’d hit his brain. “And you’re an actual child.”

“Am not! I’m a totally handsome and sexy young man,” the other replied, puffing out his chest with a cocky grin of false confidence, hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

“Is that what your mom tells you before tucking you in at night? You know, seeing as you’ve still got the maturity of a toddler.”

Lance scoffed, shooing off the rejection with a slight pout. “No way! She hasn’t tucked me in in like, a while, okay?”

“Wow, so convincing. You were probably still a teenager before she stopped

“…There’s no shame in getting a good night kiss from your mom!”

“Right. Does she read beddy bye stories to you too?”

“You know what, man? You’re just jealous!”

“Of what? Your ‘totally rad bod’?”

“Well, that too, but you’re—”

“Don’t go there, bud.”

Lance’s lids fluttered in shock at the ice in Keith’s tone. “Go… where?”

“You were about to say something about my parents, and I don’t—”

“Keith.”

“What?” Keith hissed, whipping around to face his companion. What he found was a very dejected Lance, whose shoulders drooped in contrast to raised brows, a pained frown etched onto thin lips. Immediately, Keith’s stomach flipped; he muttered out a much softer, “what?”.

“I would never joke about something like that.” Slender arms pretzel-ed themselves over Lance’s chest as he subconsciously curled into himself. “Do you… do you really think that lowly of me?”

Now it was Keith’s turn to want to shrink away. “W-well, what were you going to say?!”

“Nothing like that,” Lance mumbled, eyes lowering to the floor as he pushed past the other boy. “Let’s just… let's keep going, okay? We’re almost at the docks. I’m starving after all that fighting.”

Keith gave a slow nod in recognition, despite Lance having already continued onward out of sight. A twinge of guilt continued to pang at his chest, but really what was he supposed to think? He’d been subject to near endless mockery his entire existence. Who was to say this person (this incredibly irritating and obnoxious perios) was any different?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **New fairytales in this chapter:**  
>  -Prince Lotor: Lord Farquaad  
> -Plaxum: Little Mermaid  
> -Uljia: Thumbelina  
> -Allura: Fiona
> 
> Part of me was tempted to intro Shiro here but that would ruin what I already have planned out so oof.
> 
> [My Tumblr ](http://tobisebaschan.tumblr.com)


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